Ten Days
by The Abbot of Beregost
Summary: In the Big D's will, he left a postscription for one Lars J. Matthews. Someone's stumbled on his whereabouts, and the chase is on...


**The Bounty**

_For a period of ten days beginning on 14 February 2058, Lars J. Matthews will cease to possess any legal status. He will be stripped of all evidence of legal existence, including SIN, credsticks, DocWagon contract, bank accounts and so on. To the individual or group who ends Lars J. Matthews' physical existence during those ten days, I leave all of Matthews' assets and 1 million nuyen for a job well done. If Mr. Matthews survives and can prove his identity, his legal status and all possessions will be restored to him. **Haven't you heard? Never deal with a dragon, Lars.**_

_-From the Last Will and Testament of Dunkelzhan_

Seattle, February 10th 2058, 1500hrs Local Time

Lars was panicking. The banks refused to let him empty his accounts. He could find no one to buy his material goods. _That damned Draco Foundation_, he thought, _they're behind this._ His friends and business associates were suddenly eyeing him like a cut of meat. He scrambled from shelter to shelter, withdrawing as much money as he could every day. He bought a piece, but that wasn't going to help. As much preparation as he had made in the last six months, most of it had been in vain. His first thought had been flight from the country, but that has quickly been quashed. In four days, he was going to become the most hunted man in Seattle. He had so much to do.

The call came to old Xerxes early that morning, perhaps three AM. He crawled out of bed, rubbed his eyes and pushed the answer button on the telecom.

"Hey X."

It was Jumpy, the decker kid. He had worked worked with him regularly for the past few years, contracting him out as a support member when he went on jobs. Short, spiky blond hair bobbed as he jerked around excitedly.

"Whatcha want?"

"I have an offer for you..."

"Can it wait?" Xerxes grumbled.

"Absolutely not. I found out where Lars J. Matthews is!"

"Huh? Who?"

"The will! Big D's will! I'll cut you in for an even share!"

"What the frag are you talking about, Jumpy?"

"Boss! We kill this guy, we get one MILLION nuyen, plus all of this chump's stuff!"

Xerxes' eyes went wide. He could retire on that kind of money, stop taking these idiotic jobs for lowlifes.

"I'm in."

They met at Ezell's Southern Accent for breakfast four hours later. Xerxes was there first, but before too long Jumpy arrive, two people in tow. One was a disgruntled looking dwarf, the other a burly looking human. Everyone sat down and ordered quickly, forgoing introductions. When the waitress had deposited their plates and left, the talk finally began. Jumpy looked at his companions, and then at the ork.

"So, you in, Boss?"

"Damn yeah. Wouldn't be here if I wasn't, chummer."

"Great! Well, this is Tiax, and Hannah."

The older ork looked at each, and nodded politely. Once handshakes were concluded, everyone dug in as they discussed the matter of Mr. Lars J. Matthews.

"So," Xerxes asked around a mouthful of grits, "did ol' Lars do to piss off the big D?"

No one really had an answer. Xerxes shifted a little, trying to cover the sound of him flipping the thumb break on his worn Fobus holster with the creak of his leather jacket and shifting of his pants. His Colt Manhunter's safety was already off.

Everyone ate quietly, sizing up everyone else. Talk was sparse, the food excellent. Jumpy seemed the most nervous of everyone. Of course, he was the one with the most to lose. Lars was the product of a fair amount of investment and not a little luck.

"Listen, guys. Ease up. I need all of you, just like you all need me. You're all in the know, and if anyone finds out we know, we're all dead."

Eyes shifted from one face to the next. By even KNOWING Jumpy, they had made themselves targets. No doubt, Lars would try to have anyone knowing where he was killed, and erase witnesses and possible confidants. They were all in it now, whether they liked it or not. They would have to learn to get along. The tough looking yabos that entered the establishment shortly after everyone made this realization reinforced the point. Especially when they started making a beeline for the runners, hands in jackets...


End file.
